Catching Calhoun by Tina Leonard Page B

a line?” she asked, her heart feeling that a line would not be near enough from him. She also thought that it was best if he never corresponded with her. “Not that I think you’re a letter-writing kind of guy.”
    “I’m an artist,” he protested. “I can express myself.”
    “But not a writer,” she said. “That requires a stamp and a trip to the mailbox.”
    He put down the hoof pick, took her by the hand and pulled her from the stall. Closing the door carefully behind him, he said, “Say good night, Gypsy.”
    “Good night, Gypsy,” Olivia said obediently, allowing Calhoun to drag her outdoors. He pulled her to his truck and opened the door. She got in, delighted in spite of all her worries that he wanted to spend more time with her.
    It would, as she knew only too well, be their last night to see each other.
    Still, there had been no “last night” with her marriage; one day it was over. No husband, just a pile of dirty dishes in the sink and an unmade bed. Some old clothes left behind. A note that said, “I gotta go. Tell the kids their dad was good to them. Bryce.”
    Calhoun started the truck. “First of all, I can afford a stamp, lady,” he said. “I even know where it goes on the envelope. And I know where my mailbox is. Even Jeffersons understand the art of correspondence. One of my brothers constantly e-mails alady in Australia. Other brothers use text messages. One has been known to send up a smoke signal. Or maybe that was an accidental fire. But the message was received,” he said with a sideways glance at her. “Your premise is that I won’t follow through.”
    “You are a man,” she said unnecessarily, thinking that most men probably didn’t write women they’d just met the day before.
    “I am all man,” he boasted. “And a man knows the secret spots for romance.”
    Her eyebrows raised. “So, you’ve mapped out the area?”
    He gave her a light tweak on the arm, then captured it to hold in his. “Do not try to ensnare me with slyly couched questions. I promise you I am an efficient trap springer. I have done no mapping around here with females.”
    “Then how do you know about the romantic spots?” She wasn’t sure if she believed his innocent approach.
    “My brothers have done their share of mapping.”
    “And you’re merely the cartographer.”
    He squeezed her hand lightly between his fingers. “It’s too bad we don’t have longer to get to know each other. I’m certain that a woman who knows a twelve-letter word rarely used in modern-day language is somehow meant to spend more time with me. Slide across this seat next to me so I can rub your legs,” he said enticingly. “I have the idea I should be mapping every centimeter of you.”
    Olivia’s eyes widened. “You may be slightly unhinged.”
    Calhoun laughed. “I may be very unhinged. Come here.” He pulled her closer to him on the bench seat. “Now I’m happy. Your father would be mad, but I’m happy.”
    Olivia caught his hand before it could roam over her knees a second time. “Do you have some issues you need to sort out?”
    “Even my issues have issues, Olivia,” he said, raising her hand to press her fingers against his lips. “But where you’re concerned, I’m very trustworthy and issueless.”
    She looked at him as they pulled up to a moonlit creek. “This is a nice spot. Very romantic.”
    He shut off the engine. “Come walk with me.”
    Opening his truck door, he pulled her out the driver’s side with him. “Now, you stand right there and don’t move.” He closed the door and walked away.
    Olivia watched him, a tiny frown on her face. “Where are you going?”
    “I’m walking away from you.”
    “Well, don’t. You’re worrying me.”
    Now he was somewhere in the dark and she couldn’t see him. “I’d feel better if I had your truck keys!” she called.
    “In the ignition,” he yelled back. “Feel free to borrow my truck any moment you get the urge!”
    Olivia crossed